Lawrence Watt-Evans - In the Empire of Shadow

“Ted?” she called. “Are you there?”

“Shut up!” Ted answered furiously. “I think I’m waking up! I don’t see anything any more!”

“That’s because it’s dark in here, you idiot!” Pel snapped.

Amy giggled nervously, and glanced back at the huge gateway. It was still wide open; she could only vaguely make out the gates themselves, grayish shapes to either side. Sawyer was clearly outlined against the dimming sky; he was standing there, facing away from her, in a sort of crouch, as if expecting an attack from the stovepipe things.

She couldn’t see anything attacking, though.

“Now what?” she said.

“Damned if I know,” Pel said.

“’Tis an excellent question,” Raven’s voice answered; Amy could see nothing of him in the darkness. She could see Sawyer, and Pel was a shadowy figure to her left, but the others were invisible now.

She could hear footsteps, but couldn’t identify them all-were they all here? Was anyone else here, lurking in the darkness?

She wondered what sort of room they were in; it seemed to be large, judging by the sounds, and since no one had reported bumping into any walls or other impediments. The air was cooler than outside, and seemed a little drier, a little less of a dead weight pressing down on her.

Then she heard rustling-not clothing, but a different, drier sound. Unbidden and unwanted, the thought of rats immediately leapt to mind.

They had seen a few rats along the long walk, but never very close, and never when they were inside, in the dark, in a strange and forbidding place.

“What’s that?” she asked, dropping her voice to a whisper.

Then a light sprang up suddenly, off to her right; Amy started.

“It’s me,” Susan said, holding up a lit match and a twist of paper. She lit the paper, shook out the match, and held up her impromptu torch. “I thought we could use some light.”

“You had matches?” Amy said, astonished. “And you never told anyone?”

“I only had about three left,” Susan replied. “They were in my purse. Valadrakul seemed to do just fine lighting fires, so I figured I’d save them until we really needed them.”

Two or three voices spoke up at once; one of them was Amy, asking, “And you think we need them now?”

“My thanks, mistress,” Valadrakul said. “I’d no stomach to try my magic here in Shadow’s own keep.”

Amy didn’t bother arguing with Susan about it, though it still didn’t seem fair, somehow, that she had had matches and not told anyone. Instead Amy peered around in the darkness, trying to see where they were. The paper was burning quickly, and not casting much useful light; Amy tried to take in as much as she could before it burned away.

They were in a huge chamber of bare stone, fifty or sixty feet wide and at least twice as long, the ceiling invisible in the darkness above-and they weren’t alone. A ledge or balcony ran along either side of the immense room, about ten feet up, and on those two ledges were crouched dozens of vague black shapes, shapes with heads and legs and claws, with eyes and gleaming teeth.

Monsters.

“Are they statues?” Singer asked. The tone of his voice made it clear that he didn’t think so.

“They’re moving,” Pel answered.

“I’m not sure that proves anything here,” Prossie said.

“They aren’t attacking,” Singer said, a bit more hopefully.

Then the flame reached Susan’s fingers, and she dropped her paper torch to the floor; it flared as it fell, then went out on impact.

“’Tis my guess,” Valadrakul said in the renewed darkness, “that Shadow retains these creatures ready here, to be sent hither and yon as the whim strikes it. Were we to be slaughtered, surely ’twould have begun.”

Amy turned, looking for anything that might reassure her, but the only things she could see were the last few sparks dying by Susan’s feet, and the dim gray arch of the entrance. The light outside had died away completely, full night had fallen-and Sawyer seemed to have vanished; she couldn’t see anything of him.

“Now what?” Pel asked.

“We wait,” Raven said.

“What, until morning?” Amy demanded. “No way. I couldn’t stand it. Susan, light another ma…hey!” A thought struck her. “Matches work here? Aren’t they technology?”

“Of a sort,” Pel agreed. “Susan’s gun works, too, remember? But my watch didn’t. Some things do, some things don’t.”

“Blasters don’t,” Singer said bitterly. “If they did, we wouldn’t have any problems.”

“Anti-gravity doesn’t, either,” Prossie added. “Nor telepathy.” When Singer started to object, she corrected herself. “At least, not properly; I can only communicate with telepaths back in the Empire.”

Amy stared at the doorway, wondering what had become of Sawyer. The others all seemed to be here; she had heard Raven and Valadrakul and Pel and Susan and Singer and Prossie…

But Ted hadn’t said anything since he told her to shut up, and she hadn’t seen him when Susan burned her bit of paper.

“Ted?” she called.

No one answered.

“Ted?!” she screamed.

Again, no one answered; the others all fell silent, listening.

Amy could hear rustlings and scratchings from the creatures on the ledges, could hear the breathing of some of her companions, could hear a faint, distant splashing from somewhere out in the marsh-and somewhere, far off toward the interior of the fortress, she heard footsteps, boot leather on stone.

“He’s gone on ahead,” she said. “Into the darkness.”

“Into Shadow,” Raven replied.

* * * *

Pel wasn’t sure why Amy was so certain that Ted had gone on ahead, but it seemed reasonable enough. Ted believed this wasn’t real-or at least, he said he believed it wasn’t real, and acted as if he believed that-which meant that nothing could hurt him. He therefore wasn’t afraid of anything, and he wanted to get it all over with. Why wouldn’t he have gone on ahead?

Pel had been too concerned with his own worries-Nancy and Rachel and his own attempts to get home-to worry much about Ted, but he had decided back at Base One that Ted’s disbelief was a defense mechanism, a way to keep from breaking down completely. Convincing himself that it wasn’t real was a way to avoid going into a state of perpetual panic; Ted had always wanted to be in control of his surroundings, and didn’t deal well with surroundings that didn’t cooperate.

Whether the disbelief was genuine, or just a front Ted put up, Pel wasn’t sure, and it didn’t really matter, because Ted was tough and stubborn enough to act as if he disbelieved no matter what. Pel had proved that to his own satisfaction weeks ago.

Maybe, Pel thought, Ted had decided that whether it was real or not, it was all a story, and he was the hero. Pel could understand that; he’d thought the same way sometimes. If Ted thought of himself as the hero, then he was destined to win out, no matter what.

To Pel, though, Ted looked more like one of those pitiful innocents in a Hollywood movie who gets killed to show the audience just how rotten and nasty the villain is, to show that this is not a game, that there will be blood and death and violence.

“Ted!” he shouted. “Wait!”

“Shut up!” Singer snapped. “Listen, you two, all of you, stop yelling!”

“But…” Amy began.

“We’re standing in this thing’s headquarters, unarmed, in the dark, defenseless, with monsters lined up on either side of us, and you people are yelling,” Singer said angrily. “Do you want to get killed?”

“Think you that Shadow cares?” Raven asked. “What are shouts to it?”